


The Lost Boys

by sweetsymphony



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Family, Gen, M/M, Mental Illness, Neglect, Sibling Bonding, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 05:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3598758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsymphony/pseuds/sweetsymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 3 AU. The Gallaghers are fucked, this is nothing new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost Boys

**Author's Note:**

> I really do love the shameless world but these last few seasons have really disappointed me with how far away they've gotten from season one and two's close-knit Gallagher interaction. These days the Gallagher clan cant stick around each other for more than five minute doses and its especially hard that there isn't even any ff to fill this widening gap. My fic starts in s3 because I think thats where this divide really starts and I want to address it right at the source.

“Did you really fuck Jimmy’s dad?”

It’s a question he honestly doesn’t want the answer to because either way it’s fucking gross. And anyway, he already knows it’s true. Lip props his back against the doorframe and crosses his arm staring down his brother, but Ian doesn’t take the bait. He’s quiet, eyes closed and arms back, supporting his head. Its only a little after three so Ian must have been napping before work. He skips class when he can to sleep before his later shifts 

“Dude you’re fucking nasty. He’s like fifty or something.” 

“Fifty-eight actually.”

His brother laughs, opening his eyes just in time to see the disgusted look on Lips face then closes them with a mellow, “It’s not a big deal man.”

It is a big deal, but Lip doesn’t correct him, just watches his brother closely. Out of all of them he’s always looked the most like Monica; big celery green doe eyes with a constellation of little brown freckles across the bridge of his button nose, wide perma-grin, rod straight never-needed-braces teeth, and a pink mouth. Lip saw their mother in Ian all the time, teaching Carl to shoot in the back alley behind Swasons, raising money for Debbie to go on the fifth grade field trip, stealing watermelon from the deli up the street and smashing them with baseball bats during the summer. He had the face of someone you’d either want to take care of, or hit.

“Jesus Christ, can’t you do somebody your own age? Is that a gay thing?” Ian just laughs again and rolls until he’s off the bed, feet planted firmly on the ground. He grabs at a t-shirt tossed over the back of a chair and sniffs it before tugging it over his head and running a hand over his freshly shorn hair. He cut it for ROTC

“They buy me nice shit, wanna take care of me. Sometimes it’s nice. What’s so bad about that?” Lip shakes his head, still posted up in the doorway, and rubs a hand against his forehead in disbelief. He wants to laugh but it’s caught in his throat, lodged back deep somewhere where things like this are funny. He wants to tell Ian exactly why that’s bad but he bites his tongue until it hurts and then blurts it out anyway.

“They’re just using you man. Dirty old pedo’s who get their rocks off boning kids. They don’t give a shit about you.”

“And Karen gave a shit about you? You give a shit about Mandy?” He tosses back raising an eyebrow at Lip and tugging shoes onto his feet. “Everyone’s using each other man, I might as well get a hotel with a view and room service before I leave.”

“Your worth more than some crap motel room and fucking breakfast in the morning man. Have some goddamn pride.”

It wasn’t Lips intention to start a fight, but it seems like there’s no other direction for this to go in. His arms are tight, folded across his chest and he can feel the condensation in his tone, thick and disapproving. Ian obviously hears it too because his face is slowly arranging into his signature pissy look, jaw set and eyes narrow. The tips of his ears are a little pink too, which would be hilarious if they weren’t being directed at Lip. He juts out his chin, a classic Ian move ever since they were younger.

“And what? You raising some other guys kid? Fiona letting Jimmy fucking string her along? That’s pride?” He laughs once, sharp and hollow “I don’t know where you’ve been all this time man, but us? We’re not worth anything. We’re not special, we don’t deserve shit.”

Ian is shoving things into his shitty backpack as he speaks, pausing briefly to grab a few joints from the plastic baggie under the bed.

“That’s the last of our stash.”

“I fucking paid for it.”

And then he’s gone in a huffy six foot cloud of frustration and red hair, Lip doesn’t try to stop him, just digs another cigarette from the pack in his pocket and puts it between his teeth in contemplation. He wonders fleetingly about Ian’s real, redheaded dad, if he’s got kids too, if their hair is just a tomato, blood, fire truck red as his brother’s. He doesn’t have a lighter on him so his has to ruffle through all the shit in the two desk drawers Ian and Carl share until he finds a pack of old matches under Carls set of ninja stars, and can finally light up.

Carl comes in a second later, looking grumpy and rumpled. There is an angry red imprint in his cheek from falling asleep on the couch again and a dark blue bruise blooming on his cheekbone. He doesn’t say anything to Lip, just kicks off his ratty sneakers and burrows deep into his bed, so far under the covers Lip can’t even see the brown scruff of his head anymore. He wants to ask what’s wrong but pissing off two of his brothers in one day is more of a headache than it’s worth so he heads downstairs.

Fiona’s in the kitchen scrubbing the dirt off her hands in the sink and muttering curses under her breath. Her white t-shirt is caked with mud and there is dirt streaked across her face and clumped in her wild brown hair. She looks exasperated and mean so he just keeps walking past her too, until he’s outside sitting on the front porch and struggling to suck the last dregs from his shitty unfiltered cigarette. It’s his last one and he’s got exactly one dollar fifty in change in his pocket. Normally he’d swing by the Kash N Grab to lift another pack off Ian for free, but chances are the kids still pissed so he doesn’t bother to entertain the idea.

Luckily when Fiona comes outside to sit next to him, she offers him a hit from her own then settles down beside him, stretching out her long legs until her ankles his the pavement.

“What the fuck did you do to Ian?”

Lip lets out a long stream over smoke “Whys it always gotta’ be my fault?”

“Cause’ the only time Ian ever gets pissed is when you pick at him. Honestly I’m surprised the kid hasn’t had a heart attack, all the shit he keeps bottled up.” She lets out another long breath of smoke, flicks the ash to the pavement and shakes her head slowly. “I swear to god, you two. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.”

He watches his sister as she takes another pull, big brown eyes squinting at something across the street that he can’t see. Lip wants to ask what’s wrong but he swallows that urge back down, until its tucked away neatly with the rest of his Fiona inspired guilt. It creeps up every now and then, particularly when they’re in a hard situation and he’s reminded yet again of how shitty his older sisters life is. How shitty he helps make it.

About a block down he can see Debbie, carrot hair messy as ever, limping her way down the sidewalk face set in an unpleasant scowl meaner than any twelve year old should be capable of making. Unsurprisingly she’s also pissed. Where as Ian’s anger vibrates just under his skin like wires, an angry constant thrumming, Debbie’s beast is loud and blatant and snarling mad.

When she’s only a few feet from the porch she screams up at them. “I hate this family! I hate it!” She kicks the metal fence with the scuffed toe of her sneaker once, then again for good measure and blasts through it wildly and leaves it slamming shut in her wake.

“What’s wrong Deb?” Fiona asks half heartedly, handing the cigarette to Lip and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

“Everything!” Debbie stomps into the house and judging from the loud crash that immediately follows, throws her backpack into a wall and screams at nothing. Carl screams from upstairs for her to shut the fuck up and she shouts _make me_ with enough viciousness to actually shut him up. 

“Jesus Christ. Fucking gingers and their tempers.”

“I think you mean Gallaghers, Carls upstairs ready to shiv somebody.” Lip informs his sister and she groans up at the sky. “But hey, let me know how it goes alright? I got somewhere to be.” He stands and brushes porch dirt off the back of his jeans, hands Fiona their smoldering cig, and gives her a mock salute.

“Give Mandy my regards asshole!” She shouts at his back and he shoots her a middle finger without bothering to turn around.

He thinks about Ian’s words. About Carl, upstairs and angry and no one will ask him why, or what shit kids in the neighborhood said to Debbie today or Fiona who will dig all afternoon until she pulls a night shift at the sports bar for the third day in a row, or Ian who will suck off an old guy for a little affection. About himself, and how he’ll fuck Mandy tonight and leave another message for Karen later.

Thinks about how fucked up they are and how fucked up they're gonna be, then he goes to Kash 'N' Grab for another pack.


End file.
